My 5 Things That Never Happened
by Baconfat
Summary: Five things that never happened to JD and Dr Cox. Written for this request: 'Doctor Cox and JD with the theme of HORRIBLE MISTAKES.' JDCox implications. Incomplete.
1. One

The break room is a funny place. It's supposed to let you get away from all the noise and crazy of the hospital for a few minutes, but the trouble is that it's always full of doctors, and in some ways they're even worse than the patients.

With patients, you're never at a loss for things to say. If there's an awkward silence with a patient, you can always ask them how they're feeling, or whether they've got any questions about the treatment, or what their stance is on rectal thermometers.

With doctors, you never want to ask them about work, because that's what they're trying to get away from, and you don't want to ask about their lives, because they're doctors, so their lives are either a complete mess or much, much better than yours in every conceivable way.

Nurse Lauren is sitting over there at the table, and it might _look_ like she's reading, not even remotely aware of me sitting on the couch two feet away from her, but I _know_ she's just waiting for me to break the silence with something witty. "So how are your patients?"

She doesn't look up. I'm about to hit her with my devastating follow-up line ("Mine are good. Except Mr. Thomas, he's having some intestinal issues.") when Dr. Cox barges in.

"Alright, girls and ...girl, listen up because I'm only going to say this once. I am on my break, _Days Of Our Lives_ is on, and for the next --" he makes a show of checking his watch, "-- fifteen minutes, there will be no talking."

He doesn't even order me to get off the couch. He just pretends I'm not there and flops down with his feet in my lap.

I don't think Dr. Cox even _likes_ Days Of Our Lives. I think he just pretends to be really into it so that he can have an excuse not to talk to anyone in the break room. Just like how sometimes when I walk into a room, he pretends to be asleep, even when he's actually standing up and in the middle of talking to a patient.

I should --

"I hope you realize, Newbie, that the only reason my feet are where they are is so that it will be easier for me to kick you in the mouth should you make the mistake of breaking the 'No Talking' rule."

"I give really good foot massages," I say.

He pulls his eyes away from the TV to look at me.

"They've been known to induce _footgasms_."

Holds the look for a minute... and back to the TV. "Alright, Lola, here's the deal. I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that, and you're going to get to work."

"Back to work? But I still have ten more --"

"_No talking_," he says again, and lifts one foot up a little. For a second I think he's going to kick me -- _not the face!_ -- and then I get that _oh my god he wants me to touch him._

Okay. I can do this. Remember: footgasms. Oh my god don't think about footgasms. Orgasms. Any kind of gasms. "You'll have to take your --"

He shoots me a glare. It's not just any glare, either, it's an If I Have To Say 'No Talking' One More Time, And In Doing So Miss Finding Out Whether The Father Of Erica's Baby Is Josh Or JR, Then So Help Me, Lillian, You Will Not Live To Regret It Longer Than Fifteen Minutes glare. He's going with 'L' names today.

I've already got his shoes off before he's finished with the glare. Dr. Cox's feet smell like he's been on them all day, but at least his toes aren't hairy like mine.

I wonder if it would be possible to get my toe hair transplanted to my chest.

I'm still thinking about that while my hands do their thing -- what if something went wrong with the transplant, and I got a whole foot growing out of my chest? I could kick people with my upper body -- when Dr. Cox makes a little, "Hm," noise. And then a... like a sigh, almost, but rougher and manlier and Dr. Coxier.

Alright. Time to hit him with the time-honored Under-Arch Sweep.

"Oh," he sighs. And that one was definitely a sigh. Oh yes. I have the Magic Touch. None can resist my supple fingers and firm thumb-thrusts. Dr. Cox is making noises like a... like a doctor with sore feet, gettin' a damn good foot massage. Screw Erica's baby, he's not even _watching_ Days Of Our Lives anymore. His eyes are half-closed.

In the background, Lauren closes her book, stares for a second, then gets up and leaves. Oh yes. I am good. I am _king_ of _my break's been over for ten minutes!_ Run, JD, run! No time to put the shoes back on! No time to crash into the Janitor! Go!

The next day, I'm walking past the break room when I hear The Whistle. Dr. Cox is on the couch. All I can see of him's one sneaker, which he gives a little wave. "Get to work, Newbie."

How did he even see me? "I- I'm just on my way to lunch, Dr. Cox, but --" Louder, shriller The Whistle. "Ow, okay! Just --"

He lifts his legs up so I can sit down. "Days Of Our Lives. No talking." I sigh and take a seat. "No _sighing_, either, Mirabelle."

There goes lunch break. Curse my magic fingers!

Dr. Cox turns the volume on the TV up a few notches, and I start untying his laces. I try to imagine him forgetting to tie them up again later, and then tripping and me catching him, but instead I imagine me falling and the Janitor catching me, only to pick me up by my legs and use me as a mop.

Wait, that wasn't a fantasy. That happened, yesterday. I begged him to stop, and he said he didn't speak Mop.

"Now, this may come as a bit of a shock, Marianne, but everyone in this hospital -- except, apparently, you -- has to _work_, all day long, rather than stand around and daydream about the new boy in class and his roguish good looks, so why don't you hurry it up there a little, if it's _not too much trouble?_"

"I --"

"Apparently you misunderstood. Yesterday, when I said there was to be no talking during my break, I was speaking to the attractive nurse who was desperately ignoring you. For you, there is to be no talking at any time, _ever_."

Jerk. He doesn't deserve to be touched by these hands. I'd get up and leave if I weren't terrified of being kicked in the face.

I guess sometimes when you can't think of anything to say, the best thing is just not to say anything at all. "So, what's your stance on rectal thermometers?"


	2. Two

Getting puked on is one of those sucky parts of being a doctor that's always annoying but never really a surprise. You can't expect sick people not to get sick on you -- unless you're Elliot and think it's "just rude" -- so all you can do is get used to it. I once had to change my scrubs for puke-related reasons four times in one day, and only one of those times was my fault. Pudding. It's my Kryptonite.

So when Dr. Cox comes storming into the locker room, muttering about not being allowed to force-feed his patients an entire bottle of Pepto-Bismol before getting anywhere near them, I recognize the signs right away. Mostly because there's puke all over the front of his shirt. Ah, tuna surprise and green Jell-O. A deadly mixture.

"Oh, hey, Dr. Cox. How's it going?"

He glares at me, and somehow manages to open his combination lock and slam the locker door open without ever breaking the glare. "Faaan_tastic_, Newbie. I hope _you_ like starting your day with a nice splash of vomit, because if you don't put a shirt on in the next five seconds I may throw up."

"Are you kidding?" I ask, flexing. "The ladies should have to pay admission to come in here and see this." Carla left a bottle of lotion in the bathroom. Not only have I never felt so smooth and fresh -- I _also_ smell just a _little_ like lavender and jojoba.

"I know it's hard to remember this when there's a mirror right over there, Jenny -- in fact, I know it's hard for you to remember _anything_ for more than a few minutes at a time with that tiny, tiny brain of yours -- but this is a hospital, not a freak show." He pulls his shirt off and starts digging around for a clean one.

Alright, so Dr. Cox is shirtless. No big deal. Turk and I hang out shirtless all the time. Sometimes we play "Curlies", where whoever has the highest number of individual chest hairs is the winner. Somehow, Turk always beats me, even though he shaves. Patience, Clancy. Someday the good lord will bless you with a mate, and _then_ we'll see who's the biotch.

Being shirtless with a guy friend for the first time is always awkward. Actually, so is being shirtless with a girlfriend for the first time. A little conversation's always good to break the ice. The ice of... awkwardness. "One time, a patient barfed on me, and the stain looked just like David Hasselhoff."

Dr. Cox doesn't say anything. God, look at his chest hair. It's full and lush, without being too much. You just want to _braid_ it.

He whistles. How can he tell I'm staring when he's got his head halfway in the locker like that? "Don't make me get a restraining order," he warns, and finally emerges from the locker with a clean shirt, just as The Todd wanders in. "Speaking of which."

"What up, attending dawg? Heard you totally got some in the break room!" He lifts his hand for a high five, and Dr. Cox rips his arm off, pretends he's going to high-five him with it, then just beats him instead.

Oh my god, he's talking about the footrub! I have to head this off! "What? No! there was no getting of some! Of anything! No getting of any kind! It was a gentle but firm massage, intended to reduce swelling and increase blood flow!"

His hand is still up in the air! Rip the locker door off and crush his larynx before he can do any more damage! "That's what _she_ said, am I right? Am I right?"

"No!" I yell at him. Don't flail! He might mistake it for wildly inaccurate high-fiving! "You're not right! In fact, you're wrong! Very, very wrong!"

"_Yeah_," he says, and actually high-fives himself -- "Ow," -- and turns and leaves. Another job well done. "Dude, The Todd's got some _slap!_"

Dr. Cox looks at the shirt in his hand, then looks at me. Hundreds of miles away, those guys who measure earthquakes so they can warn everybody when a volcano's going to erupt are killed instantly when their earthquake-measuring machine suddenly explodes. "Just when I think I couldn't _possibly_ hate this festering cesspool of eternal suffering any more than I _already do_, Newbie, somehow you reach deep inside yourself and find a way to make it _worse_."

What did I do? "You were the one making all those noises when I was rubbing your feet."

"That was the television," he growls, advancing like a hungry, angry tiger who just got accused of having sex with me in the break room.

"No, the TV was playing bad soap opera music, like 'doo doo doo doo _dummm_." Oh my god! Stop talking! Don't look into his eyes! "And then there was that commercial with the talking cats."

Now instead of just murder in his eyes, there's a whole teen slasher flick, starring Dr. Cox as the psycho killer (his trademark weapon is a surgical saw) and me as the helpless blonde girl who's the last one to die. He's switched to the Scary Dr. Cox Grin, and he starts out with a laugh that sounds a little like distant screaming. "Ah ha ha, that's great that you remember everything so vividly, Angelina," still advancing, and now I'm backed up against a locker, "I'm sure it was a very exciting experience, your first time touching a man, and I'm sure you spent just _hours_ telling your Dear Diary about how your skin tingled and your heart beat so loud you were afraid your parents would hear, but if I hear _anyone_ in this hospital making _any_ comment to me about _anything_ that _certainly_ did not happen in the break room, then as God is my witness I _will_ break into the hospital personnel files and replace every instance of 'John Dorian' with the name 'Mary Kate Ashley Felicia Anne Nostones.'"

My only reply is a manly, defiant squeak.

Dr. Cox pins me with another glare just for good measure, before turning and walking away in disgust to pull a clean shirt and coat on. "And for God's sake, Matilda, lay off the lavender perfume before they find out you're actually a girl and kick you out of the men's locker room."

And he's gone. "Does this mean no more footrubs?"

Pokes his head back in for another glare. "It sure as hell does _not._"


End file.
